


An ideal husband

by wildmachinery



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-14
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildmachinery/pseuds/wildmachinery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, happy Valentine's Day or whatever."  Or, A High School AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An ideal husband

For Valentine's Day, Merlin gives Arthur a one-pound silver bag labeled, in a tiny, stylish sans-serif, _Café Chon_. "Vomit coffee," Arthur says glumly, after looking it up. "As a romantic gift, you give me coffee puked up by a ferret."

"Civet, actually," Merlin says cheerfully, "but I suppose there's not too much difference. Try it, it's good. Or so I hear."

"What this says about our relationship," Arthur says, staring down at the bag in his hands, an elegantly sinuous silhouette of a weasel - a weasel! right there on the label! - glaring balefully up at him, and hoping (hopelessly) that it's all some kind of terrible joke, "I don't think I would wish to know."

Arthur, being Arthur, had pushed all conscious knowledge of the dreadful holiday out his mind in favor of an seemingly endless series of problem sets for Aerodynamics. He only remembers on the morning of the fourteenth, after he wakes up with Merlin curled around him, Merlin's stupidly soft lips brushing his temple, the curve of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, lush and a little shy. Arthur opens his eyes; Merlin's bare shoulders and chest are pale and lovely in the wintry sun spilling in through the window, and Arthur curls his fingers into Merlin's dark hair and kisses him breathless. Later, when the sheets are utterly wrecked, and the pillows are on the floor, and Arthur is boneless and satiated, his eyes drifting shut again, Merlin yawns and says, "So, happy Valentine's Day or whatever." Arthur's arms tighten spasmodically around Merlin's waist and shoulders as his eyes snap open, staring in horror at the ceiling, and he says without thinking, "Oh shit."

Merlin, once he recognizes Arthur's incredibly suave attempts at lying to try to cover up his own idiocy for the utter bullshit they are, doesn't get mad, just laughs and laughs at him. Arthur is somewhat torn between wanting to keep Merlin as close as he can for as long as he can - because if this is how he reacts to Arthur's ridiculousness, then clearly Merlin is the girl for him - and killing him for his silence. "We never speak of this again," he says fiercely, and Merlin just grins and wipes actual tears of mirth from his eyes before throwing the bag of upchuck espresso at Arthur's head and going off to his first class, still chuckling helplessly. He obviously tells Gwen, though, who alternates between looking pityingly at Merlin and frowning disapprovingly at Arthur before swanning off to tell Morgana, who floats up to Merlin after lunch to pat him on the shoulder and say something consoling. When she throws him a (sadly familiar) look that clearly says that she is so utterly disappointed in him that she doesn't even have _words_ , Arthur finally cracks under the surprisingly tremendous strain of being an utter failure of a boyfriend and loathed by all. He skips his last class and takes the metro to Dupont Circle, where he finds the ridiculously overpriced bookshop and buys the not terribly overpriced Wilde first edition Merlin had been drooling over the last time they'd been there.

"Is this for someone special?" the bookseller asks while ringing him up. His London accent is both surprising and familiar, a breath of home in a still-strange country, and his plump fingers handle the book as gently as a reliquary containing the gilded bones of a patron saint.

"What," Arthur blusters, scowling as he feels his cheeks heat, "of course not. I can't imagine why you'd think that."

The man doesn't quite smile at him. "So you don't want it wrapped, then."

"Um," Arthur says, and reflects sadly that since the day is almost over, it probably can't get too much more embarrassing than it already has been.

"I see," the bookseller says. There is a universe of kindness and benevolent patience in his twinkling eyes, an almost seraphic calm, as he reaches for the twine and paper. "I'm sure your young man will be very pleased with it, in any case," he murmurs, smiling, and Arthur goes almost painfully red and tries his best to expire through sheer force of will.

When he gets back to campus, despondently clutching his parcel, Morgana tracks him down somehow. "Well," she says, "have you redeemed yourself yet?"

Arthur makes a face and waves the neatly wrapped book at her. "I can't believe you have so little faith in me," he says. "Besides, it's a stupid manufactured holiday, I can't be blamed for forgetting about it."

She snorts out a laugh, which makes Arthur start and stare at her, bemused. He can't help thinking that maybe the time spent away from his father has been good for her; she would never have done anything so gauche and unpolished while still in any kind of geographical proximity to Uther. She reddens slightly, but her smile is pleased and vaguely fond, and Arthur somehow can't bring himself to make a snide remark as he walks away. "He's too good for you, you know," she calls after him, but it sounds almost kind, so he doesn't give in to the unbecoming urge to flip her the bird.

Merlin, when Arthur gets back to their room, is doing something useless with thirteenth-century French literature and doesn't even look up when Arthur comes in. "What, what," he demands irritably, hunching over his laptop. "Why are you slamming doors when I'm trying to work."

"Here," Arthur says graciously, dropping the package on Merlin's desk. "I just hope you weren't expecting flowers, too, you big girl, it's bloody freezing and I'm not going back out."

Merlin looks up at him then, a confused frown creasing his forehead. Before he can say _what_ again, Arthur nudges the package toward his hand and steals his tea while he's distracted by the knotted twine. It's still steaming, even though Arthur is sure that Merlin forgot about it hours ago. Arthur rolls his eyes and takes a careful sip; too sweet, as usual.

"Oh," Merlin breathes, surrounded by brown paper and bits of string, "you didn't." He, like the bookseller, holds the Wilde carefully, reverently, smoothing his fingertips over the dark blue morocco leather and gilt of the cover, delicately palming the spine as he tips open the book to inspect the frontispiece. "Oh, you did, I can't believe you did. You-" He looks up at Arthur, his eyes shining and a stupidly happy smile on his face. "What," he says, obviously trying to look affronted, "no chocolates?"

Arthur coughs out a surprised laugh. "Idiot," he says, and cuffs the back of Merlin's head. "I hope you're not too disappointed, I don't think that shop does returns."

"No exchanges, either, I suppose," Merlin says, looking back down at the book in his hands. The look on his face is gratifyingly pleased and soft, a little bemused. "God, it's lovely, I can't believe you remembered. You really shouldn't have, Arthur."

"Of course not," Arthur says, puffing out his chest and preening. "Naturally."

"No," Merlin says with an embarrassed smile, "I mean, you really shouldn't have." He casts his eyes down, the tips of his ears reddening guiltily. "Um. That coffee was sort of a joke, you know, I just wanted to give you a bit of a laugh, so you-"

"I fucking knew it!" Arthur crows, delighted, then clears his throat nonchalantly. "I mean, whatever." He shrugs, and sniffs, and smiles. "You'll just have to make it up to me, I suppose."

Merlin grins, and puts the book down on his desk. "Yes," he says, sliding a hand onto the shallow curve of Arthur's waist. He looks up at Arthur through dark lashes, his thumb slowly stroking the slight jut of Arthur's hipbone, carefully, reverently. Arthur curls his fingers into the fine, soft hair at the nape of Merlin's neck, and holds on. "I suppose I will."


End file.
